


Blossoming Happiness

by bigsunglasses



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen
Genre: Epistolary, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9407984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsunglasses/pseuds/bigsunglasses
Summary: "Everybody allows that the talent of writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female."~ Henry Tilney.Letters between Eleanor and Catherine, after one marriage and before the other.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Highsmith (quimtessence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/gifts).



> Thanks to c. for betaing.

My dear Catherine -

Sorry though I was that you could not attend my wedding, it must still rank as the happiest day of my life. I need not hold back from _you_ my anxiety that Father would at the last instant revoke his consent and blessing. Yet he did not, and I was united before God with my dearest, dearest Jonathan. It was if the sun had taken up residence in my heart. I only wish that a _similar felicity_ for yourself is not long postponed. - I may not write more today, for dearest J calls me to walk with him. This cottage in the Downs could not be a more picturesque setting for a honeymoon. I wish you and Henry could see it. 

Yr affect. Eleanor.

*

Dear Eleanor - 

I am sure indeed that the Downs are vastly pretty, but you must send me a better and more full description, in the _style of a novelist_ , so I may see them clearly before my mind's eye. There! do I not learn to tease myself? I have begun to see what an important thing it is, to tease oneself. My mother and father forbear to tease me over the letters I constantly write, it is very good of them indeed. I had not until this year realised how blessed I was, to be born to such parents. Though I suppose that they are not of such teasing nature as you and your brother, after all. - Pray write again and tell me how you go on. I cannot think of more to tell you. It is so dull here compared to your life. I unpick Janey’s stitching and hear Tom’s alphabet. - Pray do write, dear Eleanor. 

Yr affect. Catherine.

*

My dear Catherine – 

Indeed I think you must be teasing _me_ now, for I had been thinking your life was vastly interesting indeed. I have seen many fat letters reach Woodston, with poor Henry obliged to pay pennies for the extra pages, tho’ they be cross-written. Yet of that perhaps I should not speak, for your parents are very good not to mention the matter of letters. - Instead I shall write of the Downs, though I fear I lack the novelist’s touch. Tis a very gentle landscape, very green and quiet, except do we pass a road with market-goers. All roads lead to Brighton here! The uplands are quite bare but there is good timber in the valleys. We walk every day, unless it rains, in which case we read by the fire, or J reads aloud while I sew. Nothing could be more comfortable. Yesterday we took tea at a pretty old moated house called Oldtimber, which has stood there since the Domesday Book or so its owner told us. She was a frail old gentlewoman of an era gone by, the last of her line, and exceptionally kind; the cottage in which J and I stay belongs to her. She enquired most solicitously after our comfort, did the servants give us satisfaction, was the hen-woman cheating us, etc. I find it rather charming to keep house for J. Vastly different to keeping house for Father. J does not mind if dinner is late, or the tea over-stewed (and with unfamiliar servants it is very difficult to keep such things from occurring). 

Yr affect. Eleanor.

*

Dear Eleanor -

It sounds vastly _romantic_. It makes me quite miss the hills around Bath – there is little variety of landscape in Fullerton. Have you been to Brighton? I have heard such exciting stories of it! Though of course I do know now that nothing is ever quite like the stories. Except perhaps _true_ love itself. Oh, it is so charming to hear you speak of J! I quite weep to think of it. Never did anyone better deserve such felicity than you, dear Eleanor. I can quite picture you both by the fire (even though I have yet to make his acquaintance), books in hand and the cosy candlelight upon your faces. I am sure he must be the most charming gentleman _but one_. Particularly so, does he not mind the tea over-stewed. I am afraid I am not handy at tea-making. Mother always scolds me for wasting the leaves. I have resolved to be perfect at it from now on, in imitation of you, my dear friend. - I believe you leave Sussex in just four days: pray do write from Brunswick House, and tell me all about it. 

Your affect. Catherine. 

P.S. I will endeavour to be a better correspondent in future. I value you as highly as a certain other person to whom I write. It is only that I know myself very silly sometimes, and you are quite the grand lady now.

*

Dear Catherine -

I am just the lady I ever was. I should be so sad did you not speak to me and think of me in the same fashion as before. Your letters are like your company, ever a delight. - Our fortnight of honeymoon passed in a breath, it seemed, and now we enter fully upon our life together. Brunswick House is even larger than Northanger, and there is so much work to do here that I feel almost daunted. It was built after the Restoration, upon a hill with a fine prospect across a river, and the fireplaces all smoke. Though it pains me to say it, I believe its previous mistress cannot have been a good housekeeper; and then too it has stood empty for these many months after J came so unexpectedly into the title and the property, and has spent his time in London settling business. There is a small staff in place, and everything was well-shrouded in Holland covers; but there is no inventory of the silver, and the wallpaper is sagging in my chamber (dear J was mortified), and I greatly desire to install a closed range in the kitchen, and, o, a thousand more things which I shall not enumerate. I know I am equal to the task. I intend to begin with J’s study, an elegant apartment facing south, attaching to the library. After studying merchants’ samples this week, I have in my mind to lay a scarlet carpet there. What think you? 

Affectionately, Eleanor.

* 

Dear Eleanor -

Scarlet is very _grand_ and must of course suit a Viscount. Your taste is faultless. Do tell me more of how you find Brunswick House, of what like are your neighbours, etc. It is very hard for me to stay still when I hear of you setting up in your new life. How slowly the weeks pass. - Janey’s stitching is still very bad. Mother says she hopes mine will improve if I have to help Janey. - Tom still has not his alphabet right. 

In longing, Catherine.

* 

Dear Catherine - 

There was a very pretty ditty which I recall my mother using to teach me my letters, in the year before Miss Cooper was appointed my governess. I enclose a copy, against need. I must confess that I would right now prefer to be teaching a little boy his letters, than arguing with Mrs Smite, who has been housekeeper here these fifty years, and will not change her ways. I have been cutting flowers in the gardens (sadly overgrown at present) and placing them in bowls and vases around the house to stir the sullen fragrance of a house long unoccupied. She throws them away. One would not think a woman of her age had the energy. She is entirely superstitious and thinks several of the flowers ill-omened. It has been a month now since I was installed as mistress of Brunswick House and though I have come to command the respect of the other servants, Mrs S. remains obdurate. - My dear J is frequently out of the house on parish and county business. I remind myself often that his absence only makes his return the sweeter. Several ladies of the parish have paid calls, so I am not lonely, though friendships take time to grow. I am invited to assist in supporting the construction of an orphanage. 

Affectionately, Eleanor. 

P.S. Do not be wishing the time to pass. It will do that anyway. 

*

Dear Eleanor – 

Were I you, I should gather up all the flowers she discards and place them secretly in her room overnight. She would never suspect _you_ , and might be so frightened she would never dare touch your bowls and vases again. - Thank you for the ditty. Tom ate the paper, as a protest, but happily I had already committed it to memory. Father spanked him, but I am not sure that is a great aid to his memory. I must tell you that Father received a _most interesting_ letter today from none other than the General. I had not sight of it, but Father described it as almost gracious. I cannot quite believe that. But the trend of its contents gives me hope that before long I shall see Brunswick House, and meet J. 

In hope, Catherine.

* 

Dear Catherine -

I cannot wait for the day when you are sister in truth as well as spirit. J and I write continually to Father, representing the strength of the attachment between you and Henry, your good nature, your family’s most respectable circumstances. We have high hopes. But I shall not write more on this head until we know more, and instead shall confess to following your suggestion. Mrs S. has not touched my flowers since. It was most naughty of me, most Catherine-like, but after near six weeks of arguing I felt quite desperate. The house now smells so beautiful. Besides the general vases, I also place fresh roses in J’s study every other day, although they do not quite match the hue of the new carpet. In such acts I receive greater joy than I give, which makes me feel guilty, though J laughs such a thought to nonsense. He is the kindest and best of men. While I argue with labourers about plasterwork and flues, he is making plans to rebuild cottages on the west of the estate. He gives his heart to the matter as I have not seen before. I long for you to meet him. 

Yrs, Eleanor.

*

Dear Eleanor -

I hope one day soon (oh, how I hope!) to write of _a certain gentleman_ in such terms as you write of _your_ gentleman. - At present the only males I can write of are my brothers. Tom has now learned to write A, B and C, but no further. Christopher has broken his leg (for the third time – what a tiresome boy!). James writes often but makes no mention of a _certain person_. Mother and Father seem quite uninterested in talking over the affair, only saying occasionally what a pity it was. James seems in good spirits however, and I do not think of Isabella above once a week. I wonder how she goes on, and yet I don’t wonder enough to try to find out. - I have been drafting a pattern for a new frock from some yellow muslin Mrs Allen kindly gave me after she found it did not suit her. I enclose a spare inch of the fabric so you may see its shade. Is it not pretty? Sally says yellow does not suit me but I am sure Mrs Allen would not have given it to me if _she_ thought so. 

Yrs, Catherine.

*

Dear Catherine -

It is a charming shade and I daresay Sally was envious. I think it would be best as an undergown, with a white or cream overgown. You have very delicate colouring and I think a golden-yellow, while going charmingly with your dark hair, would be a little strong against your face. It will be just the thing for an undergown. - Mrs S. has accepted J’s offer of a pension. I was most surprised, for she dearly loves this house. I would not have suggested retirement. She must be a dear deep part of J’s memory of this house as a child. There is a snug cottage awaiting her, for she gave good service in her years. There will be enough money to employ a girl to keep it clean, though I fear the girl will have a trying time of it. Mrs S. is to retire at the next quarter-day: I look around for a replacement now, and I look forward to a more peaceful household. It seems a small ambition perhaps, but if I could unite my present happiness in marriage with a tranquil and well-ordered residence I believe I would not lack for anything.

Yrs, Eleanor.

* 

Dear Eleanor -

How good you are. I would greatly wish to run my future home in tranquillity and order, only I must admit I do not know if it is a sensible ambition for _me_. Mother often scolds me for inattentiveness. Furthermore, you are quite right and the muslin doesn’t suit me at all. I can’t bring myself to give it to Sally. She called me unchristian and it gave me quite a pang, but when I wrote to Henry of it, he said that it wouldn’t suit Sally either, for we look quite alike. I am going to give it to the poor. There, isn’t _that_ the act of a Christian woman? - O, Eleanor, since writing the previous words this morning, that most desired of events has happened! Henry has come to Fullerton, bearing a letter from his father with _consent_. I can’t even begin to describe the feelings in my heart! But I don’t need to describe it. You know what it is like. We have settled on a date already, just over a month hence. My head is in a whirl, no less than my heart. To see his dear face after so long an absence, to hear his dear voice, to hear his laugh instead of reading his words and knowing he was laughing! O, Eleanor, I am sure I do not deserve to be so happy. I will give the muslin to Sally after all. 

Yrs, Catherine.

* 

My dear Catherine -

I wept for joy over your letter. You deserve happiness. Never doubt it. I am all gladness for my brother and for you, and for myself, to gain such a sister. I must also confess to gladness that my father has come around to a better way of thinking. I must always be attached to him: must always value his opinion, even when he brings us pain. - I have lately discovered myself to be in a happy situation where the doctor advises against a journey, and will not be able to reach Fullerton for the wedding. But J shall attend (though he protests against leaving me), and it will not be long after that, I hope, that _Mr and Mrs Henry Tilney_ will be guests at Brunswick House and I may embrace _my sister_. 

Your delighted and affectionate Eleanor.

*

My dear Eleanor - 

How can this year hold so much happiness? To be sure I should have liked you attending me at my wedding, but you have such an _excellent reason_ to be absent. I told Mother of this _exciting news_ and she proceeded to write a note, which you will find enclosed, and which I was most _straitly_ ordered not to read. Though delighted that you are in the _state all brides must wish for_ , she seemed quite worried that you are without a mother of your own _at this time_. When, God willing, such a blessing comes to me, she says she will then _share her knowledge with me also_ .

Yr sister in waiting, Catherine.

P.S. You will be quite my _favourite sister_ , for Sally gave the yellow muslin to Janey, and Janey has been practising her stitches on it. What am I to tell Mrs Allen?

* 

Dearest Catherine -

Pray thank your mama for me. I must praise most warmly the kindness, delicacy and utility of her note. I miss my mother more than I can say, but the spirit of motherhood lives in many women. I have enclosed a letter for Mrs Morland and would beg you to give it to her. I would dearly like to open a regular correspondence with her. 

Your Eleanor.

P. S. I cannot help but observe that at least Janey is practising her stitches.

*  
My dear Eleanor - 

Sorry though I was that you could not attend my wedding, it must still rank as the happiest day of my life ...


End file.
